


Let Me Be Your Cigarette

by mess_your_pretty_hair



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Blood and Gore, Bottom Sam Winchester, Breathplay, Come Marking, Comeplay, Daddy Kink, Hurt Sam Winchester, Internalized Victim Blaming, M/M, Non-Consensual Somnophilia, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Porn with Feelings, Possessive Lucifer, Season/Series 12, Shapeshifting, Somnophilia, Temperature Play, Top Lucifer (Supernatural), Victim Blaming, demeaning language, like just a TINY trace of Daddy Kink, please AO3 put my stupid tags in order
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-20
Updated: 2019-02-20
Packaged: 2019-11-01 05:26:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,653
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17861159
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mess_your_pretty_hair/pseuds/mess_your_pretty_hair
Summary: Lucifer gets a late-night fix.





	Let Me Be Your Cigarette

**Author's Note:**

> Basically an S12 AU wherein Luci was more persistent in getting ~~his ex~~ his vessel back, but repossessed Nick in the meantime. (Poor bastard was probably a comatose John Doe in some Detroit hospital.) The angels’ sedation-by-touch powers _totally_ go unmentioned because Lucifer wants the responsiveness of natural sleep, and not at all because I somehow forgot.
> 
> (Title is from the Dax Riggs song of the same name.)

 

 

Lucifer couldn’t believe his luck. Even for the Winchesters, this was a new low. No one could  _possibly_  be this dumb.

The archangel stood outside the bunker. No angel warding lighting up the night, no… _anything_  warding. Just an ordinary, unprotected concrete wall. 

Picking the lock was easy enough. Basic telekinesis inside the keyhole, fiddling with the bits inside until it all fell into place. The door opened smooth and silent. 

He could also have picked the lock manually if he’d wanted, since Sam could too.

Once his eyes adjusted to the moonless dark of the bunker, Lucifer crept into the hallway. Past several doors leading to artifact storerooms and record-stuffed file cabinets - something there might be useful, but he didn’t have all night.  _Maybe next round._  He wasn’t sure where Dean’s room was, and looking for it would also waste time. Lucifer savored the image of Michael’s vessel as a smear on at least two walls and maybe the ceiling, but kept moving.

(It occurred to him that a dead brother could make Sam more open to an arrangement, regardless of what Sam said. For all the boy’s talk about being ready to watch people he loved die, history suggested otherwise.)

One goal at a time. Keeping close to the wall, Lucifer made his way to the room he’d gotten comfy in the year before. His room, really, considering who slept in it.

So it was that Lucifer stood in Sam’s warm and dark little bedroom, in his sock feet, watching the human sleep. The boy’s legs were awkwardly folded so they wouldn’t hang off the bed, ankles crossed, knees sticking up and tenting the sheet. Lucifer rolled his eyes. Of  _course_  Sam would literally try to fit in a little box, rather than accept he needed something more.

All that height was wasted on Sam.

Still, it was a nice view. Almost comforting. Lucifer had lost count of how many times he’d spread Sam out knees-up. 

Sam appeared to be sleeping like a corpse. Probably had a few beers too many.

Still, Lucifer watched the boy’s features for any disturbance. He remembered that sharp delicate face splotched all pink from sobbing and sex flush, swollen lips and pink swollen asshole to match, purple-black bruises all over, a garden of blooming colors under red-and-white splatter. Lucifer’s cock jerked at the thought.

He leaned over and stroked the fanned-out hair on Sam’s pillow. Long hair, silkier than any dead beloved’s cheesy nightgown… _God._  Just as pretty clean as it was matted with Sam’s blood and Lucifer’s come.

Lucifer peeled the sheet back. He gingerly uncrossed Sam’s ankles, and eased onto the mattress between his legs. Pushed Sam’s t-shirt up around his armpits, exposing the anti-possession tattoo and nipples soft from the room’s warmth. Hooked his fingers into Sam’s sweatpants and slid them down over the plush swell of his cock and balls, past endless fucking legs and big, pale bare feet.

There were a few decade-or-more old scars on Sam’s flesh. Lucifer’s handiwork, of course, was long gone. 

Out of the corner of his eye, Lucifer spotted something. A brownish angel-banishing sigil on the side of the nightstand. He bit back a laugh.  _I guess someone here_  is  _using his brain._

The angel licked his thumb and rubbed away some of the dried blood, breaking the circle and rendering Sam helpless.

Lucifer slipped an index finger into his mouth. He gripped his growing cock through his jeans and added another finger, sliding his tongue wetly around them until drool was running down to his wrist.

He was so tempted to just bend down and swallow Sam’s cockhead like a skinned plum, suck out precome. But he already knew Sam would spasm awake if he did. The boy had never lasted long under Lucifer’s tongue,  _especially_  when it was forked. (The forked tongue was a joke at first. Once he saw how Sam responded to it - squirming under its slow drag,  needy and ashamed - Lucifer made sure to lick away whatever dignity Sam had left.)

His little bitch was volcanic inside, as always. Sam’s spread thighs twitched at the intrusion and the angel stilled his finger.

_Wait…_

_Still asleep. Good._

Eventually, Sam felt loose enough around finger one - time for another. Lucifer smiled at the way Sam’s insides clutched wetly at his fingers, drawing them in.  _Heat seeks cold._

Shame he couldn’t risk yanking the boy’s intestines out through his ass, just to watch them glisten and hear Sammy scream. No, tonight Lucifer would be gentle with his little Sammy. Make it good.

While working Sam open, Lucifer pulled his cock free. He tried to contain his annoyance at Nick’s rather average size. For an insane moment he almost missed the Cage - at least there, he could get creative. There, he could make his cock the size of a baseball bat, or bifurcated; or try something completely different and make it a dripping pussy, a mouth full of sharp teeth, a greedy mass of tentacles reaching for Sam while whipping the air.  _Oh well, can’t be helped._  A long-forgotten memory sprang up of turning his dick into an actual jack-in-the-box - the look of terror on Sam’s face kept Lucifer laughing for  _years._  Hell, it took all Lucifer had not to laugh again.

Sam’s dick was rapidly filling out and up, waving like it was fucking saying hello, and his long sluggish breaths made the perfect soundtrack.

Lucifer eased in so slowly, so gently,  _mustn’t wake the poor thing._  Sam was so much pressure and  _heat_  around Lucifer that the archangel struggled to breathe.

He and Sam both sighed, once Lucifer bottomed out. The angel dragged his cock back up to the head, and Sam’s parted lips turned up at the corners. Lucifer grinned, shivering.

 _That’s it baby, you just_  need it,  _don’t you?_

He rocked in…out…in. Couldn’t look away if he tried, not with the body on the mattress shivering and making little slow-motion squirms, ridiculous horse cock bobbing with every thrust. Not with his own cock disappearing over and over into that perfect, stretched-out ass.

_Need me filling you up like a good bitch…_

Sam let out a soft whimper. And another, until he whimpered each time Lucifer pressed to the hilt, innocently obscene. It drove Lucifer so insane he thought he would vibrate right out of his borrowed skin.

 _Poor Sammy, so empty since you left me, fuck…cute little cockwhore, all mine, Daddy’s got you oh_  fuck…

Out of the blue, Lucifer was picturing what would happen if he took his hands off Sam’s hips and clamped them over the boy’s mouth and nose.  Eyes flying open, unfocused, a brief glimpse of blown pupils right before they shrank to pinpricks, a helpless muffled scream and  _oh Father there it is…_

Lucifer shakily pulled out and aimed just in time to shoot an arc of come onto Sam’s belly, distantly aware of Sam moaning at the sudden emptiness. 

Panting, the angel rubbed his still-blurting cock against Sam’s engorged one, careful to avoid the head, letting his eyes roll back at the feeling of his own creamy mess sliding between them.

Suddenly, it seemed important that he make Sam come too. Leave undeniable proof that the self-righteous jackass  _liked_  having Lucifer inside him, same way he liked having air in his lungs.

Lucifer scooted back a few inches. He closed his come-coated hand around the base of Sam’s shaft, thumb making teasing circles where cock and balls met.

He took a moment to pet the boy’s gaping wet hole with his other hand, then slid a dry finger all the way to Sam’s sweet spot, wiggling that finger against it until Sam’s hips bounced and his asshole squeezed Lucifer tight. A loud whine made Lucifer look up at Sam’s face - it was mashed into the pillow, crumpled up and flushed, but his eyes stayed shut. His body was limp. 

It amused Lucifer that Sam made the same face in orgasm as in pain.

Sam’s come was indistinguishable from Lucifer’s. Together it made a big white pool, spreading, trickling into Sam’s gutters, gooey in his pubic hair.

Lucifer started to lick his hand clean. It tasted like Sam’s and Nick’s genetic codes. The right body and the wrong one.

He decided to wipe his hands on his shirt instead.

So slowly, so gently, Lucifer closed Sam’s legs. Pulled his pants back up, tugged his shirt back down. Got off the bed and tucked him in. 

Planted a kiss on Sam’s sweaty forehead. Ran his fingers through that hair one last time.

Then Lucifer tucked himself back into his jeans, bit his finger to draw blood, re-drew the sigil.

Good as fucking Sam was, it was nothing next to the euphoric  _rightness_  of filling his every cell. But if sex could help make the goddamn Cage more bearable, it could tide him over until his vessel said “yes” again.

 

 

Sam woke to his phone’s beeping alarm. Groaning, he stretched on his back, not caring about the faint ache spreading in his skull, feeling too peacefully unspooled to give a crap. Something flaky tickled inside his sweatpants, and bits of a dream drifted into focus. Soft, filthy touches to the exact spots that drove him crazy. Feeling pleasantly full, and…

_Cold._

Sam’s heart juddered. He jumped out of bed and abruptly realized standing just wasn’t going to happen.

 _Just a dream,_  he thought, on his hands and knees.  _It wasn’t real you’re safe you’re safe he can’t get in the bunker you’re safe._  

 _The warding’s back on, Dean turned it on. Right._   

Squeeze the scar for good measure.  _Wasn’t real._

Then, once Sam was breathing evenly again,  _Why would I enjoy a dream about that? What the hell is wrong with me?_  He tried to yank his pants off, grimacing when they stayed stuck to his cock and stomach.

 _Jeez, I came a_  lot.

 

**Author's Note:**

> I posted a slightly different version of this on Tumblr back in 2017. This updated version is, uh...still flawed as hell. But I had a blast writing it. Concrit welcome!


End file.
